


And Then There Were None

by Alyss_Baskerville



Series: Speculations of the House of Finwë [1]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Betrayal, Bitterness, Broken Engagement, Chance Meetings, Developing Relationship, Difficult Decisions, Engagement, F/M, Falling In Love, First Kinslaying (Tolkien), First Kiss, Flight of the Noldor, Friends to Lovers, Growing Up Together, Hatred, Meeting the Parents, Relationship Deterioration, Relationship Issues, Relationship Problems, Resentment, Slight Misogyny, The Noldor, The Teleri - Freeform, The Vanyar
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-11-08 11:54:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17980844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alyss_Baskerville/pseuds/Alyss_Baskerville
Summary: Oftentimes his mind, against his will, wanders back to her, laden with useless "what-if"s. What if he had not sworn that oath? What if she had agreed to accompany him? What if they had decided to wed only a little earlier?What if they had never met?Whether to prospect is more appealing than reality, he cannot say.





	1. Chance Encounter

**Author's Note:**

> I have recently become Celegorm trash and wanted to explore what he would be like in a romantic relationship. That is the only justification I have :)
> 
> This will not be an extremely long story. I only want to provide little snippets of Celegorm and his lover's relationship over the years.

Celegorm sometimes thinks Curufin had good fortune in wedding his wife before The Flight. At the very least, Curufin had managed to live with her in marital bliss, if only for a jarringly finite time. He would have liked to have that, he thinks. Would that he had bound his _fëa_ to hers for eternity, as his brother had with his wife, perhaps it would alleviate the longing that ever eats away at him.

Other times, he hears Curufin mutter in his sleep, calling out to she whom he had left behind in Aman with sorrow or with loathing that is all too familiar, and pities his brother for it. These times he thanks the One that he had met her only a little too late. _Imagine_ , his soul tied to hers for eternity, being one in spirit, with such resentment and bitterness left between them! The idea, the irony, the pathetic hopelessness, is almost comical. 

He is sitting in his chamber, contemplating as he has not allowed himself to do for years. He is not a man given to softer sentiments, never has been, but tonight he feels the particular burden of conscience. Celegorm knows not the reason, but he runs his fingers over the carvings on his bow and idly plucks at the bowstring anyway as he is wont to do when deep in thought. She was the one who pointed his habit out to him, he recalls. Not that he had not noticed her many tendencies and made her aware of them in turn. 

Celegorm wonders if Nymíriel still smooths her hair back with her left hand when she is frustrated. 

* * *

He had been tracking this one for a day and a half. 

Celegorm stopped for a moment to make sure that he was still on the trail. Concluding that he was and staving off the creeping triumph (for he was  _close_ ), he continued on his way, bow held in hand. An arrow was nocked in preparation, but, having nothing to aim at, he had not drawn yet.

He was confident that he could finish off his quarry today. The thought of being able to say that he had brought down such a lithe and swift-footed beast invigorated Celegorm, filling his limbs with a new rush of energy. He would not give up. 

If he returned home with this new achievement, perhaps he would be able to see pride in his father's eyes. Celegorm had never shared his father's passion for smithing, and although Fëanor did make an effort to conceal his disappointment, there were times when he could not but let it slip through his eyes, or his voice, or his countenance. Every time it did, Celegorm felt a little bit of himself wither in shame. 

It was not as if his father did not accept Celegorm for his talents and his expertise (which lay in the outside, hunting, among nature), but he nevertheless felt the sting of failure when the concealed discouragement was made perceivable. It sometimes prompted Celegorm to wish that he could find someone else who shared his passion: his father's forte was smithing, his mother's the crafting of sculptures. Maedhros was pragmatic and tactical, Maglor had his skills with the harp and his voice of surpassing beauty that had even caused tears among some. Caranthir was yet still a babe, and would discover his aptitude in time. 

He could share the thrill of the hunt with only Oromë, but Oromë was a Vala, not one of the Eldar, with more experience and skill than Celegorm could imagine himself achieving. What he found himself wanting was not a mentor (for he had the best in Oromë), but a friend. 

Shaking himself out of his musings and scolding himself for being distracted, if only for a moment, Celegorm made sure, once again, that he had not strayed from the trail. When he found that he had, fortunately, not, he continued on his way, his footsteps light and lithe, easily sidestepping or stepping over and hindrances on the wild forest path. Again, exhilaration swept through his body, burning away the thoughts of his father's disappointment or his desire for a companion. In that moment, he was solely and completely a predator, intent on finding and killing his chosen prey. His footsteps grew lighter, the bowstring, arrow nocked on and prepared, was pulled back ever-so-slightly, and his senses came alive as he was suddenly aware of everything; the direction of the wind, the rustling of the leaves in the trees, the fronds and plants that he stepped so carefully over to keep his target from sensing him. 

It was close. 

The scent of blood permeated Celegorm's sensitive nose and he frowned at the unexpected development, his predatory rise calming somewhat. He was sure his prey had not been injured when he had first begun tracking it; had something occurred along the way? But surely he would have noticed before if the deer had been hurt during their game of cat-and-mouse? Or perhaps...

Celegorm stepped around a tree and peered through the tall grass rising to nearly the crown of his head, expecting the deer to be there, beyond the stalks. 

And, well, it  _was._

Simply not in the way he had imagined. The creature's light, powerful body was now collapsed on the grass. Its eyes were closed - unnatural, he knew, for animals slain during a hunt died with their eyes open and staring, and it was a hunter's duty to close them. In its heart was an arrow, and kneeling over it, head lowered and lips whispering thanks and respect, was an elleth.

Celegorm found himself staring in surprise. Never had he encountered another elf this far removed from any settlements. They were in the complete wild now, where animals and vegetation flourished, unrestrained and untamed, and only Oromë often traveled so far out. As for Celegorm himself, it was his third time, and his first without the company of the Vala. He had not seen others in this area before.

Then the realization that the quarry he had hunted for so long was slain, and not by his own hand, gave rise to Celegorm's naturally fiery temper. Oromë had taught him patience through the hunt, but impatience was not quite the same as frustration and irritation. 

No longer bothering to be silent, Celegorm parted the fronds of grass and revealed himself. The elleth looked up from the slain deer, her face mildly startled. Clearly she had not expected another person's company in these forests.  _Like myself,_ Celegorm thought, but only fleetingly, for his mind was occupied by matters much different.

"That is my kill," he told her bluntly, glowering. "I have been tracking the deer for over a day." 

She stood. "As have I," was her response, matching his stare with her own. Now that he had spoken his mind, Celegorm's thoughts were not nearly so occupied with his ire, and he began to digest her features. She was beautiful, he saw matter-of-factly, although, like him, not yet in her full maturity. She had curled, [pale golden hair](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/c1/50/82/c150820998770de9830e16d4a7a6b018.jpg) that, although its length was difficult to gauge because it was bound back, away from her face, appeared to reach around her mid-back, and fair skin. Her eyes were large, long-lashed, and a hue of clear turquoise. 

She wore a simple green tunic with white sleeves and brown leather armguards. On her legs were a pair of black leggings, and her feet clad in brown leather hunting boots. A leather belt wound loosely around her waist, two sheathed daggers hanging from it. A bow was slung over her back, as was a quiver of arrows and a large brown satchel.

"And it is I who have killed it," the she-elf continued. "Therefore, the quarry is mine." 

Celegorm admitted that if she had indeed tracked the deer as long as he had, he could not argue with her. Still, he could not help but wonder if she would be as willing to come into conflict with him if she knew that he was Turcafinwë Tyelkormo, son of crown prince Curufinwë Fëanáro. Despite his curiosity, he said nothing about his father, for he was not fond of the obsequious sycophants who behaved with over-flattery towards himself or his kin. In the forest, beyond all civilization, he was but Celegorm. 

"You cannot prove that you have tracked it just as long as I," he challenged, snappish and still determined to claim the deer for his own.

Equal parts amusement and annoyance crossed her face. "Are you implying that I am a liar?"

"Certainly not. I merely make the point that I have no reason to trust your word." 

"That is the same as implying I am a liar."

"Not so."

"It is."

"It is not."

"Nevertheless, the kill belongs to me, prince."

Any further retorts at the tip of his tongue were stayed at her last word.  _Prince?_ She was aware that he was the grandson of the High King of the Noldor? Yet she had willingly argued with him. Did she not fear his status?

"Did you, perhaps, think I would fail to recognize Prince Turcafinwë ?" There was full amusement in her voice now, and Celegorm huffed, glaring again. His gestures prompted naught but quiet laughter from the elleth, irritating him further. Furiously ignoring the embarrassment - and he could not even discern what exactly it was that embarrassed him, which only led to further chagrin - Celegorm attempted to steer the conversation in its original direction. " _Nevertheless_ ," he said harshly, repeating her earlier word, "I want that deer. I have worked too hard to lose it to another!" He recognized that his words were far from eloquent or princely, but his mortification and anger were garbling his tongue.

"By the Valar, relax," the she-elf responded with a snort. "If it is a matter so important to you, I will let you have it."

Celegorm was surprised; so much so that any victory he might have felt in being ceded the kill was muted. He had not expected her to give up so quickly. "Are you so suddenly cowed, after receiving affirmation that I am indeed a prince?" he asked with a snort. 

"No, you looked so angry that I claimed the kill as my own that I merely wanted to prevent you from bursting into flames." The mirth in her eyes told him that she jested, but her tone was serious and he was almost discombobulated. Almost, but not quite, and his confusion was wiped away with the force of his sudden, if admittedly irrational, annoyance. Claiming the deer was important to him. He wished to do his father proud, and she was jesting? She could not have known, of course, and his ire was misplaced, this he knew, but Celegorm had always been hot-blooded. 

"You think yourself clever, but this matter is of great significance to me," he snapped. She looked surprised before annoyance crossed her face as well.

"Please forgive me, my prince," she said dryly. "I have committed the woeful and treasonous crime of being unable to read your mind and act in accordance to your moods. It is only natural that I should have peered into your thoughts and seen how critical the issue of 'whose kill this slain deer should be considered' is to you." Now she glared at him too. "Was that enough to heal your wounded pride?" 

Sarcasm? She was  _mocking_ him? As sense caught up to him, pushing back his indignation, Celegorm said nothing. On one hand, he knew not what to say in response. On another, he found that her wit soothed his displeasure, and the searing flames in his belly abated somewhat. Despite himself, he realized that a small smirk had crept onto his face. 

The she-elf shook her head, making her creamy pale locks sway. Despite being tied, Celegorm noticed, several shorter strands escaped the restraint, wisping down about her forehead and cheeks. "You condemn me for being lighthearted and then you simper. Is that not hypocritical?" 

Before Celegorm could respond, she continued, "In all seriousness, Prince Turcafinwë, I gave the deer to you as your kill because the process of hunting itself brings me as much satisfaction as claiming my prey does." She shrugged. "And I simply saw no reason to fight so hard to keep it. I cannot say the same thing about you, I believe."

She spoke like one with experience in the hunt, Celegorm realized. His anger fully calmed, he began to wonder if he had found the friend he had been wishing for. She was around his own age, and if she had truly tracked and slain the deer this far, it was reasonable to believe she had considerable skill, as well. But the notion of simply asking her to be his companion rankled him. He had his pride to consider, and _that_...

He gazed at the fallen deer, now his, and found that he had no desire of being given it. If he truly wanted to claim the triumph of the kill as his own, it would not satisfy him to be  _allowed_ to have it by another. "No," he decided. "Disregard our argument. I do not want the deer."

The girl looked surprised. "After stating that it was yours so persistently?"

"I can derive no satisfaction of victory if I am allowed to have the kill by another hunter," explained Celegorm. He wondered if she did not feel the same way. The girl appeared to have pride; did it not wound hers, for another to grant her her success, rather than earning it with her two hands?

She nodded thoughtfully. "That is true," she mused, "although I have never considered the situation in the past." 

"Nor have I," admitted Celegorm. "Now is the first time I have found myself in such a position, in reality or in my imagination." He'd never dreamed any others, save Oromë, hunted in these forests.

"Just do not hunt me through Aman and demand to have the kill back if you change your mind," the she-elf joked, kneeling in front of the deer. She drew a knife from her belt and presumably began the process of removing its internal organs. 

Celegorm found that he did not want to simply walk away. He was intrigued. She was an elf close to his own age, a skilled huntress; he still desired a friend that shared his passion for the hunt, and she had the potential. However, they were not friends. Yet. If they would ever be, he could not say. 

"Is it often that you wander out here?" he asked, kneeling and drawing his own dagger to assist her in her field dressing. She did not seem bothered by his interference as she replied, still cutting carefully away at the deer's body, "Not often. Including this venture, I have been this far out only four times in my lifetime."

 _This is my third,_ Celegorm mused, though he did not give voice to his thoughts.

"I did not expect company out here," the she-elf said. "Your presence so far from civilization means you have skill. How long have you hunted?" 

"I believe I began to have an interest when I was seven years springs old." 

"And how old are you now?"

"Fifty-four summers." 

"You are older than me," the girl commented and she succeeded in removing the deer's liver. "I am fifty-two winters old."

They fell into a companionable silence, the only noises being the sound of fur and flesh being shorn from muscle and bone. It was a first time for Celegorm, removing the organs of a quarry with another's help. The process was rightfully much faster, especially because both he and his new companion were fairly deft at their work. In the following three minutes, Celegorm cut out the deer's second kidney as the she-elf cut out its heart, and they were finished. 

"You have my thanks for your help," she told him. "We may have decided the kill is mine, but I believe I disagree now. We can share it between us." 

"I told you, I have no desire for someone to allow-"

She waved him off. "I am not allowing you to have anything, Prince Turcafinwë. You helped me field dress the deer. The process of harvesting a kill is as important to me as tracking and killing it." 

Celegorm hesitated. "Are you asking for my further assistance?"

The she-elf's turquoise eyes twinkled with amusement. "Perhaps."  _Yes._

With so little distance between them, Celegorm realized something that he had not taken notice of before: her eyes of blue-green had minuscule flecks of gold in their midst. An unusual color, he thought critically before it dawned on him: this she-elf was inviting him to accompany her. 

 _It appears I may have my companion yet,_ Celegorm thought. He smiled. 

"Very well. Since the deer is my kill as well, I cannot simply allow you to take it unassisted." 

She smiled back. "Then follow my lead, prince."


	2. Cameraderie

"Ah." His companion gestured to the mound-shaped stone that sat in the center of the four oak trees with almost unnatural perfection. Celegorm gazed at it, attempting to gauge the possibility of something natural being positioned so flawlessly. He had passed this stone often; and often did he wonder if the Valar had situated it as such. 

"We are nearly there," he finished the thought for her. Nymíriel nodded. 

"Will your family be awaiting your arrival?" Celegorm found himself genuinely curious. In their three-week-long acquaintance, she had not offered him any information about her kin, and he had not asked, for he was uninterested. Until now. 

"They will. And I assume Prince Fëanáro and Lady Nerdanel will be awaiting you as well?"

Celegorm nodded. He could not help but wonder about his father's reaction when he brought the deer's hooves and beautiful white pelt home. He had before been clinging to the hope that his father would be satisfied with his accomplishment, but now, as the moment became ever more imminent, he could no longer muster the same confidence. 

In an attempt to smother his trepidation, Celegorm took off across the plant-laden forest floor, leaping airily over roots and loose stones. He heard Nymíriel's shout of surprise at his abrupt burst of speed, and then the pounding of footsteps, the vibrations in the soil, told him that she was in pursuit. 

Laughing, Celegorm increased the length of his strides. As long as he could recall he had been a swift runner, the swiftest in his family. The forest began to blur around him as his acceleration took to new speeds. His white-gold hair whipped ferociously from the force of his running, a few strands darting about his blue-grey eyes, but he easily disregarded them in favor of the rush of adrenaline sweeping through his limbs. Yes, he affirmed again, the forest, the plains, the valleys, the wild, was where he belonged. Dashing smoothly up the gentle inclines of the hills, Celegorm was pleased to feel slight burn of his lungs, the tightness of the muscles in his legs, and the heavy beating in his chest. Other might have found physical strain unpleasant, but he had always basked in it. 

All too soon, his sprinting was called to a halt, for he had broken through the treeline and stood now at the top of the hill at the edge of Tirion. 

He had returned home. 

So occupied was Celegorm in studying the city that he and his kin dwelled in that he did not hear Nymíriel's approach. She stopped at his side, breathing slightly strained, but was otherwise unruffled by the run. Celegorm was pleasantly impressed. Few could keep pace with him, and Nymíriel came quite close.

"My family should be here," she said through light panting. Celegorm's brows rose as he turned to her. "You are of the Noldor?" he inquired. She did not look it; most elves of the Noldor had straight, dark hair, much unlike his companion's wavy, flaxen locks. And her turquoise, gold-flecked eyes were most certainly odd. If anything, she looked far more like one of the Vanyar, or even the Teleri, but they dwelt in Valmar and Alqualondë respectively. 

"No," was her simple response, and then Nymíriel was gone, rushing down the hill headlong towards the city. Celegorm ran after her. Together, nearly side-by-side, they entered the city and slowed their gaits to a halt once more. As he caught his breath, Celegorm spotted a familiar sight: a carriage with a red flag emblazoned with the Fëanorian star. At once, he knew that his father had come. 

The carriage rattled over the cobblestones, pulled by two midnight-black stallions, then halted a distance away. The door of the carriage opened, and Celegorm watched as his father, mother, and two older brothers exited. He did not see Caranthir, but he was not surprised, for his younger brother was too young to attend such an event. 

He could not contain his surprise when one other stepped out from the carriage: his grandfather Finwë, the father of his father. His first hunting alone in the distant forests of Aman was a significant occasion, but Celegorm had not thought it so significant as to garner the attention of the High King of the Noldor. His trepidation grew ever-larger. 

"Turcafinwë!" his _naneth_ called, speeding up her stride as to close the distance between them with more haste. Celegorm left Nymíriel's side to walk, slow and dignified, towards his mother, no matter how he desired to run to her and leap into her waiting embrace. Already a crowd was gathering, to see the third son of Curufinwë Fëanáro return from his one-moon-long hunting expedition. Celegorm was aware that it was critical that he looked every bit the prince that he was. 

But when Nerdanel reached him and embraced her son, for a moment, none of it mattered. Celegorm had surpassed his mother in height at that point, but there did not exist a place that he felt safer than in her arms. 

Over his mother's shoulder, he saw his father and brothers approaching. Maedhros and Maglor were both smiling, and although his father's face was a princely mask, Celegorm detected the satisfaction in Fëanor's gaze. 

His mother released him to allow him to greet his brothers and father. Maedhros reached him first, his bluish-grey eyes gleaming. "It is good to have you back, _muindor_ ," the first son of the House of Fëanor greeted him. Maglor sidled up next to his russet-haired older brother with a smirk.

"Indeed," the second son agreed. "You must regal us with all manner of tales about your adventures in the distant forests of Aman once we return home."

"I will make sure your mouths are gaping in wonder," Celegorm retorted. 

"Turcafinwë." He recognized the voice of his father. Maedhros and Maglor stepped aside to let Fëanor through to his third son, and Celegorm dropped his gaze. 

_"Adar."_

He blinked as his father's hand landed on his shoulder, warm and strong. "You have done well to return, Turcafinwë," Fëanor declared, but Celegorm could see that his father's praise was a mere formality. In this moment, at least. His father would not truly declare a verdict until he saw just what Celegorm had slain and brought home. Again, he could sense his own fears all-too-well. What if the game he had hunted and killed was not enough?

"Peace, Curufinwë, do not intimidate the child so." What Celegorm heard now was his grandfather chiding his father. Fëanor released his son and joined Nerdanel, Maedhros, and Maglor to allow Finwë and Celegorm to stand face-to-face. Celegorm briefly recalled hearing that for all Fëanor's hotheadedness, he respected his father greatly...But he could not afford to think about that, not now, when Finwë drew close to him. 

Celegorm bowed deeply. " _Adar adaron nín_ ," he greeted formally, father of my father. Never had he been particularly close to his grandfather, and never had he felt their relationship, or lack thereof, more clearly than now. The extent to wish they were unfamiliar with each other was almost painful; he wondered if the ancient elf felt it as well.

"Turcafinwë." Finwë's voice was warmer, moreso than Celegorm's own courteous detachment, but Celegorm could tell that his grandfather was not certain of what to say, either. At last, the High King settled on a tender, "Congratulations on the completion of your hunt." Celegorm bowed his head to show his thanks, pride at receiving such praise settling in the pit of his stomach despite his reticence toward his grandsire. 

"I have been meaning to ask you, little brother," Maedhros spoke as Finwë finished speaking to Celegorm. "Who is the elleth standing behind you? She and you entered the city together, did you not?"

"Ah." It dawned on Celegorm that he had momentarily forgotten about Nymíriel while greeting his kin. "This is - "

He was interrupted when murmurs broke out amongst the spectating crowd. Perplexed at the sudden commotion, Celegorm turned in time to see that the hordes of elves were parting in order to let something through. He saw what it was a moment later as it came into view: a carriage gilded with silver and white gold, pulled by two alabaster stallions, its snowy-porcelain banner emblazoned with an eagle of Manwë. It was quite plain to see that whoever was inside the carriage was a Vanyarin elf, and, Celegorm thought, given the quality of the carriage, it had to be the royal family. 

The carriage halted next to that of his family's, and the doors opened. Who stepped out was an elf that Celegorm had never before seen in his life, yet he knew who it was, for no other among the Eldar had such a glow of the Valar in his gaze. He was tall and clad in sky-blue robes, with waist-length golden hair, a fair face of pure blue eyes. A silver-gold circlet inlaid with sapphires rested lightly on the elf's brow, and he carried himself with a grace of command and dignity of ruling that Celegorm had only ever known his grandsire Finwë to possess.

Indeed, there was no doubt. This was Ingwë, King of the Vanyar and the High King of All Elves. 

Behind Ingwë came another elf who bore with him a striking resemblance. His hair was as golden, his eyes as blue, yet he was not as great of stature, if only by a marginal amount. He, too, was clad in blue robes, but his circlet was smaller and simpler than that of Ingwë, decorated with diamonds instead of sapphires. Like Ingwë, his demeanor spoke of kingliness and valor.

On the arm of the second male elf was a woman of surpassing loveliness: sea-green eyes, pale skin, and long, wavy hair marking her Teleri descent with its glassy, sea-foam silver. She wore a green dress and a circlet identical to that of the second male elf. Though of average height for an elf, she carried herself with elegance and regality that caused Celegorm suspicion that she was nobility. 

"Ingwë," Finwë called in greeting, his voice affectionate. "Prince Ingwion, Princess Lithôniel, I did not expect to see you here to greet Celegorm." 

"That was among our intentions, King Finwë," responded Ingwion, as Celegorm could only stare in amazement. Prince Ingwion was the son of King Ingwë, the crown prince of the Vanyar, and Princess Lithôniel was Ingwion's wife, a daughter of Olwë, the High King of the Teleri. For what reason could they possibly be here? He did not think for a second that so many Eldar of so many significant houses were gathered in Tirion solely for his return. 

"Yes," Ingwë agreed with his son, greeting Finwë with a fond smile. He nodded, "Prince Fëanáro, Lady Nerdanel." Nerdanel dropped into a curtsy, smiling at the king, but Fëanor merely nodded, stiff and standoffish. The King of the Vanyar seemed not to mind, however, as he turned to Maedhros and Maglor. "Prince Nelyafinwë, Prince Kanafinwë. Long it has been since I have last seen you both. You have grown." Lastly, he turned to Celegorm. "And Prince Turcafinwë, you have my sincere congratulations on your return from your hunt." 

"Thank you." Celegorm miraculously managed not to stutter, still taken so off-guard by the presence of the Vanyarin and Telerin nobles. 

"Now," Ingwion called, opening his arms in an inviting embrace, "Elenya, child, come here." And Nymíriel ran to the Crown Prince of the Vanyar, throwing herself into his arms with a gleeful, " _Adar_!" 

Celegorm could do naught but stare, dumbstruck. The realization hit him, hard and instantaneous and shocking. Nymíriel, his companion, the she-elf he had come to befriend over their three weeks spent in the distant forests, was Princess Elenya Írimiel, granddaughter of Ingwë, High King of All Elves, and granddaughter of Olwë, High King of the Teleri. All this time he had believed her to be from an insignificant elvish family, likely of the Vanyar or the Teleri, and she had never bothered to confirm her parentage.

And now he knew why: her blood was just as exalted as his. 

 _But my father has always disliked the Vanyar,_ realized Celegorm.  _If Nymíriel is a Vanyarin princess, he will not like any friendship between us._ He could not but admit that the thought saddened him.

"Princess Írimiel?" Maedhros' voice, shocked (not that it was any wonder why), drew Celegorm from his thoughts. "Were you aware of this, Celegorm?" His oldest brother demanded. 

"I...was not."

"You are meaning to say that you traveled with the granddaughter of King Ingwë and knew not of her identity?" 

"You did not notice it either!" Celegorm countered stubbornly, his defensiveness rising up over his shock at the sudden turn of events. 

"No, I did not," shot back his older brother, "but I did not travel with her!" 

"Peace, Nelyafinwë." Kanafinwë, ever the calm one among them, soothed the firstborn and turned to Celegorm. "Turcafinwë, how long were you and Princess Elenya in each other's company?"

"Only...only two days," Celegorm lied, but the firm look that Makalaurë leveled at him prompted his lies to wither away. Glaring defiantly, as he could imagine no other defense, he admitted, "Three weeks."

 _"Three weeks?"_ hissed Maitomo.

"And you saw not that she was Princess Elenya?" Their father appeared behind Maitomo and Makalaurë, the set of his brow and mouth making his displeasure apparent. He had never been fond of the Vanyar, not since Indis had wedded Finwë, and held even less love for them following the birth of Celegorm's uncles, Nolofinwë and Arafinwë, sons of Indis and not of Fëanor's own mother, Celegorm's grandmother, Serindë. Celegorm imagined his father could not be happy that he had spent the entirety of three weeks with a Vanyarin princess, who was also kin to his father's stepmother. 

Celegorm had no choice but to shake his head, suddenly feeling sorry for his companionship with Nymíriel. 

"Do not be so harsh, Fëanáro," chided his mother, placing a hand on his father's upper arm to soothe him. "Turcafinwë," she said, smiling at him, "Regardless of Vanyar or Noldor or Teleri, it is a good thing that you have made a friend. From her bow and her attire, I gather she is a huntress, is she not?"

He nodded.

"Good. Then you have found someone to partake in your hobbies with."

It barely escaped Celegorm's peripheral vision that his father frowned at his mother's words, turning away from his wife, his sons, and the Vanyarin elves. But he nodded to satisfy his mother anyway, and himself, he had to admit. He did not want to lose Nymíriel's friendship for the sole reason that she was Vanyarin (and Telerin). 

"Mother?" he asked. "Why does King Ingwë dwell in Tirion? Does he not reside in Valmar, the city of the Vanyar?"

"He is visiting King Finwë," his mother explained. "His arrival with his kin occurred about half a week after your departure to the distant forests. Today, however, is the day of his departure. Out of mere coincidence is it the same day as your return - and Princess Elenya's." Then her eyes fixed on something behind Celegorm and she smiled. 

"Turcafinwë." The voice was now familiar to him. Nymíriel - Princess Elenya Írimiel tapped a slender index finger against his shoulder from behind him. Celegorm turned and was greeted by her smiling face. She looked apologetic. "I am sorry for withholding my parentage from you. I thought and desired, if only in the distant forests, that we might be no one but Nymíriel and Celegorm." 

"Regardless, Írimiel," Princess Lithôniel chided her daughter, "deception is not right."

"I know, Mother. Once again, Turcafinwë, I apologize." Nymíriel sounded truly sorry, he could not deny that. Some part of Celegorm wished to be angry at her for lying by omission, but he could not ignite his normally volatile ire, not when he understood her desire to be simply herself in the anarchy of the forests so well. 

"It is alright," he said, and then teased, "I must forgive you, since you provided me with such entertaining companionship during our three weeks together, Elenya." 

She jested right back, as he had become used to. "Would that you had provided me with companionship as entertaining as I provided you with, Tyelkormo, you might have not been obligated to forgive me."

"Such ungratefulness."

"I merely speak the truth, prince." Her turquoise eyes were bright with amusement, then earnest as she gazed at him. "But, our jesting aside, I enjoyed your company." 

"And I yours," Celegorm replied from the heart.

"Come, Turcafinwë." It was his father's voice, clipped and short and clearly not very pleased in spite of his mother's efforts to placate him. "We must go."

"Yes,  _Adar._ " Celegorm hesitated, reluctant to take his gaze off Nymíriel. For three weeks she had been the companion, the hunting-friend, that he had desired. He was aware that should he simply leave like this, he would be losing that. Nymíriel would surely depart to Valmar with her kin, and he would remain in Tirion. It was possible to exchange letters, but instinct warned Celegorm that his father would not be approving of such a development. 

Nymíriel must have seen the pause in his eyes, for she smiled a smile that seemed a little more forced than he was used to. Had she detected his father's disdain for the Vanyar, and by extension, his dislike of the thought of them continuing to communicate? Had she known before they had ever met? Perhaps it was why she had not given him her parentage, Celegorm realized. 

"Why do you hesitate?" she murmured. "Your father calls you, Turcafinwë. Go."

"Yes," Celegorm agreed. Foolish. It was foolish to hope that their friendship could continue. She had been his comrade for three weeks, and three weeks was enough. "Goodbye, Princess Írimiel. I wish you safe travels." 

She inclined her head. "Thank you. Goodbye, Prince Tyelkormo."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eh, I feel like that parting got a little bit too cliche at the end. It kind of feels too much like Romeo and Juliet. Eep. 
> 
> At this point, Celegorm and Nymíriel have absolutely no romantic feelings. They're fond of each other, consider each other friends, and are kindred spirits in that they both enjoy hunting, something that others in their family can't relate to. That's the reason for their reluctance to part, not any romantic sentiments.


End file.
